


Torn

by kimtristh



Category: Breaking Bad
Genre: Crying, M/M, all those good things, daddy overtones, dubcon, implied emotional abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-11
Updated: 2013-09-11
Packaged: 2017-12-26 07:48:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,077
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/963408
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kimtristh/pseuds/kimtristh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The worst part of it all is that he does love him. He does care. Somehow that is the fucking killer.</p><p>For the <a href="http://brbakinkmeme.livejournal.com/521.html?thread=9737#t9737">Breaking Bad Kink Meme</a></p>
            </blockquote>





	Torn

The worst part of it all is that he does love him. He does care. Somehow that is the fucking killer.

"Jesse, Jesse... Look at me" his voice rings soft and giving, unlike everything else about him, his weight on top of him pinning him down to the mattress, making impossible for him to wriggle free.

"Fuck you!" he growls through gritted teeth, tears streaming down his face, his veins bulging, saliva at once too much and too little. He's not doing what he wants anymore. He's not letting him play him.

His arms tighten around his shoulders, the grip should be bruising but it is not and that is infuriating. For him to be gentle now of all times... "why?" he asks involuntarily, the hurt overwhelming him. Quietening him. And he doesn't want him to tell him why, it's all a lie all the same, 'because I didn't know how else to save you' how many times will he say that expecting him to believe it?

"It's alright, son, I got you," Mr. White says, fingers threading through his hair, his bear softly brushing against his cheek. Jesse doesn't want this, he never has, but still he's hard and writhing underneath him, seeking contact that could only destroy him, spreading his legs so the older man can nestle in. 

"I'm going to let go now, and I will take off my shirt, I would like you to do the same," calm, even voice as if he was talking him out of a panic attack. Who does he think he is? Jesse nods, of course he nods.

He has seen Mr. White without a shirt before, he has even seen him naked. If he could, he is pretty sure that he would laugh now, remembering that first time they cooked, that first time that he saved his life. Fucker. He should’ve let him die. He should’ve turned him in. Any and all of that would have been kinder. 

He sheds his own clothes with something akin to shyness, he has had enough sex in his life, done enough drugs that it shouldn’t matter who sees him naked but somehow it does. It’s Mr. White and he’s going to touch him. He could puke with how badly he wishes he will think he’s beautiful.

“I am going to remove your trousers, son,” Mr. White says, and it’s yet another ‘uh huh’ that comes out of his throat without his intervention. He’s no longer screaming as he cries, but his lips and eyes feel swollen, the tears feel almost oily as they drip down his cheeks. The Mr. White he knows calls him an idiot in the back of his head and he agrees, for once he agrees.

He’s suddenly naked and lying on his front, he can feel the heat radiating from Mr. White’s body above him, the tufts of hair on his legs and arms so unfamiliar – because he has sucked cock before, but he has never lied pliant as he waits for another guy to fuck him, with the vague hope in the back of his neck that he will split him in two. That maybe the pain will kill him. That maybe once Mr. White is inside him they will meld together as one – chemistry, isn’t it? Nothing remaining of them both, something entirely anew... ‘Idiot’ says the Mr. White in his head, ‘It’s okay, son,’ says the Mr. White above him.

He can hear his own voice now, wailing as Mr. White finally pushes inside of him, and it hurts so fucking bad, so much worse than he thought, the searing pain travelling up his spine; and Mr. White doesn’t seem to be much better off. He’s struggling to stay still, saying he should have used more lube and promising it’ll get better. He always promised that, in a way. Just a few more weeks of cooking, we will make it out alive, a new name and a new beginning – I will be alone and you can shoot me in the head if you want. He never comes through, though, so it does catch him by surprise when Mr. White manages to brush against a spot that makes it all momentarily better.

He moans out loud and it’s embarrassing, “Yes, son, good,” says Mr. White as he wraps his arms tighter around him and moves his hips trying to jab again on that spot, and he hates him. He hates him so much, because he needed him to tell him these things so many times and he wouldn’t. He needed him up close, skin on skin and wrapped around, in and above him and he never let him have that. ‘Failure’, the Mr. White in his head says and he plants a sloppy kiss on the forearm of the flesh and blood Mr. White that he hadn’t realised he had been clutching all this time.

Mr. White sounds breathless above him, the cancer probably eating away at his speed, at his strength but he’s too far gone to ask him to stop and needs him up close like this too badly to offer to take over. ‘This will have to do,’ thinks Jesse as he pushes back against the older man’s thrusts, trying to aide him, still crying, still hating him.

He topples over the edge in a full body spasm that makes him cry out, teeth clutching the flesh of the arm of the older man, vision blacking out in between the red as Mr. White tells him “Very good, son, let go, I got you”. He can hear the older man reaching his climax, groaning in his ear “it’s okay, son” over and over, he can feel his hips stuttering and then stilling. He can feel him spilling inside him.

He’s saying “no”, now of all times. No. Over and over and over, louder and rougher, his voice cracked and dry and his tears still leaking. He clings to the older man’s arms, pulling him close and not even letting him pull out with any ease. “Okay, son, no,” says Mr. White, and he tightens his arms around him once again. He plants the kindest of kisses on the side of his neck. 

Once everything is still, the Mr. White against him says “I love you, son,” but the Mr. White in his head says “Shut the fuck up, you idiot,” so Jesse bites his tongue and doesn’t say anything at all.


End file.
